Adventure Travel '“The Survival Club” Mountaineering Chamonix

Mountaineering - Chamonix

The Mer de Glace ("Sea of Ice") is a valley glacier located on the northern slopes of the Mont Blanc massif, in the French Alps. It is 7.5 km long it is the largest glacier in France and 2nd only to the Aletsch Glacier in Switzerland in Europe.

At more than 3800m above sea level the Vallée Blanche is the mythical off-piste skiing route. In order to ski the Vallée Blanche a black piste skiing level is required and a previous experience in powder skiing and deep-snow turns is needed.

The plan was to ski down The Vallee Blanche to the Mer de Glace-The Infamous 20km off piste glacier ski route in Chamonix. but after a days practice skiing on touring bindings and “skins” it soon became obvious we were crap at sking, hardly surprising as none of us had in fact skied before, and oddly a few hours of instruction didn’t turn us into “black” run experts. although in fairness I doubt if any us could have got down a nursery slope without crashing.

Plan B - We’d snowshoe it. We could do this!

Plan B turned to Plan C and plan C went to rat shit fast. I am not sure what plan D was, but whatever it was the weather soon put paid to that, and what started out as theoretical “survival” training soon became real life survival training as we battened down of the night.

We had built an amazing set of interlinked snow caves, with a lovely cold trench down the middle - the theory being that cold sinks into the trench and you remain in an ambient temperature on the ‘shelf’ above. We had a snow bolder door, and with nothing better to do started carving shelves for boots, lamps and generally improving the place. Pole through the roof gave us an air vent and marked our position.

We made the dreaded venture out to vacate our bowls remembering to flick the spindrift snow from pants unless you wanted frostbite in your nether regions. We cooked on mini stoves and put a brew on barely venturing out of the sleeping bag, which we slept in fully clothed - minus boots. It was quiet cozy really and the snow insulated us from the sound as well as the cold.

After a couple of days it became apparent that we couldn’t stay for much longer, supplies and gas was running low - it takes longer to boil anything at altitude, but when we looked outside conditions had if anything worsened considerably. In theory it was not too far down the valley to the glacier, but we were in the midst of a white out, and the noise of the wind made communication beyond a few meters almost impossible.

We set off the following morning and had crampons on due to the ice, walking ice axe and we were all roped up. We were all carrying large rucksacks of equipment, snow shovels, ropes, climbing kit, sleeping bags, kip mats spare clothing, stoves etc. It was quite bit of weight and the large sacks caught in the wind. We started down the valley but it was hard going and it soon became apparent that conditions under foot weren’t great. The ice was black / blue and rock hard in some places and even in crampons grip was not good.

We set off and within an hour or so conditions were so bad I couldn’t see the people at the front, and so I trudged along like an automaton at the back in the footsteps of the person in front, the line occasionally tightening and going slack.. Next thing I knew we were off our feet and being pulled along the ground, I scrambled to put my ice axe in, and my fuzzeled brain was trying to work out what was happening. We stopped. I was breathing hard; the rope was taught.

In a white out you have no real concept of up / down, bumps etc and so at first I thought we must be falling down a slope, except the rest of my brain said we were on the flat. It took me a while to figure out the the black blob I could see in front was a head; someone had gone down a crevasse.

I backed up to tighten the line, and waited. I saw John Barry unhook and climb into the hole, risking life and limb. unbeknown to me it was the “big guy’ who had gone through a snow bridge and then fortunately had landed on one further down, but this was crumbling……..

With nothing better to do, other than being dragged into a crevasse with the rest of them I got my camera out and took some snaps. They are in black and white (film). We will post them up one day when we get them digitised.

Soon the “Big Guys” ruck sack appeared and other hands grabbed at it to pull it to the surface. John reappeared and to quote a contemporary account later written in The Survival Club magazine “ We popped him out like a champagne cork.” I don’t think it was quite like that; but that will do. I think he was pretty shook up by the experience. I couldn’t hear a word of what was being said, but I got the gist. I was just the “anchor’ in a bizarre tug of war competition of man (and woman) vs gravity.

Further partial collapses and “trips” as well some horrendous ice conditions, including one where we had to take a run up and jump over another crevasse from one ice block to another indicated things were getting a bit serious. I found this particularly challenging especially as at the last moment my crampons caught on my trouser leg causing me to stumble. John indicated that this wasn't working, and so we had another change of plan.

We were instead going to climb up the knife edged arête to the Agile du Midi Telegraph Station and wait it out up there, as it was obvious we weren’t going to “walk” out of it. The plan was to climb either side of the arête in “buddy pairs” on the actual side of the mountain, so that if the person opposite you fell they wouldn’t pull you off as well. We were all roped together, so if we did go it would be like a running stitch tearing and we’d all go splat 1000’s of feet off the mountain. It was a bloody long way down. I got to buddy with the “big guy” - great!

The white out continued and communication was by now impossible as the storm worsened. We were icing up and having to drag the stiffened rope across the top of the snow was getting hard work. We were slowing down and the wind was threatening to pluck us off the mountain. At times you just had to stand still and cling onto your ice axes just to stop you getting dragged off. The massive back packs were started to become a liability. Every now and again the line tugged, but I couldn’t see the others it was attached to. It was becoming scary and desperate. John gave us the hurry up.

it seemed to go on forever and the sound and oddly the smell of the snow storm was something I would never forget. Good job I was wearing my brown trousers. My face and hands were frozen, and my feet felt bruised from kicking in the crampons and standing on the points. I felt another tug of the rope and then a big arm reaching down to pull me up - we had made it it, and somehow we were in the tunnel of the telegraph station. The place was deserted. If you have ever watched the film “Ice Station Zebra” it was just like that, with the storm raging outside. Inside was colder than the ice cave. I slumped against the tunnel wall - exhausted, mentally and physically.

Later John told us he was about to give us the order to ditch the back packs as he was concerned we weren’t going to make it. Glad he told us that after the event! We used the last of the gas to put a brew on, settle into sleeping bags and went into that semi comatose state that you do from cold. Time stood still. the telegraph was closed and evacuated due to the storm. Everything was locked up. it was dark and icy cold. We had made it, bit made it to what?

The following morning it was eerily quiet - and brilliant sunshine. The storm has passed. I took some snaps from the top and we packed bags and cooking stuff, the gas had gone so no breakfast, but then again we had nothing left to cook anyway, and then suddenly machinery started to wiare as the telegraph sprung into life. I felt like whooping!

The poor telegraph driver nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw us, he thought we were ghosts; no-one could have got up here. He rattled on excitedly in rapid French. I just wanted to get back down. He didn’t ask for our tickets.